Stern
by Genine
Summary: If I try really hard enough, for a moment I am no longer in the city, I am no longer Sévérine. Instead, I can hear the voices of my mother and siblings calling out my old name once again—my old original name. My real name before any of this happened. My real name, Song.


Stern

Chapter 1

If I try really hard enough, for a moment I am no longer in the city, I am no longer Sévérine. Instead, I can hear the voices of my mother and siblings calling out my old name once again—my old original name. My real name before any of this happened. My real name, Song.

When I close my eyes, I think I can still see it—what life was like before I left, at the age of fourteen. The fast, polluted, and noisy din of bright flashing advertisements and cars honking in whatever city I'm in disappears. I can breathe in deeply and smell the sweet scent of country air, see the rice terraces, the old houses, the school building, the temple. I can see my siblings— all of them— laughing even though they are barefoot, playing with a scrawny village dog in the rain. I was the oldest of my brothers and sisters, but I was innocent like them. I did not share the same father that they had, but we thought nothing of it. We were all one of the same; we were of my mother's household. There was always some reason to be thankful or happy, though we were some of the poorest in the village. We were each other's happiness and we were completely oblivious to the world outside us.

I will never forget my family. My first home, my only home, was inside a village in the inland Gansu province of China. We didn't have towering skyscrapers, a busy international airport, or an ever-steady supply of rich tourists. What we had were mountains, rice terraces, and each other. Life was hard for everyone who lived in the village. Most people were farmers or desperate migratory workers. If someone from the city came into town, we knew about it.

My mother—how she did try her best raising us, even though she was alone, a widow. She was the only adult who could take care of us five children. My siblings' father had died when I was thirteen in an accident. He was the love of my mother's life and treated me like his own.

As for my own father, all I ever knew of him was that he was not Chinese. Because of him, I had white features and stood out from everyone else (but it was not in an obvious good or bad way). I looked Chinese, but a little bit of something else, too. My skin was much fairer, my hair brown, my eyelids different. I hated looking subtly different from everyone else but mother said I was beautiful and so I believed her. She never told me about my white father and why I had never even seen him. That part of her history had always been a mystery to me.

Mother was strong, optimistic and tried to be happy even though she was grieving. Even though she could barely afford to feed and clothe us all, her wealth was in keeping us happy and alive.

She worked for a neighbor, tending his rice fields while we were at school. Her only education was elementary and primary school because that schooling was mandatory and free. She never went on to further her education, but was still very smart. Mother understood the value of education, and told us to be good and study hard always. She taught us that even if we couldn't afford to complete our high school or ever go to college, life was the greatest teacher we could ever have. She said to take advantage of any opportunity that comes our way to make money so we could help the family out.

I was always given a lot of responsibility. My life with my siblings was of leadership and sacrifice. I was like a second mother for them at school because I was the oldest. I had two brothers and two sisters. We had to wake up early in the morning so we could walk to school. We did everything together, walked to school together. I made sure they didn't forget their lunch, quizzed them on their lessons. After school when we came home, it was not uncommon to find that we were by ourselves for the evening. If mother was out somewhere, I'd be the one to cook and clean. I was so busy taking care of them that I didn't have the luxury of thinking about other boys in the village like the other girls did. I was shy of boys. I had no knowledge of them yet.

We had no TV, radio—nothing like that. We didn't even have electricity. By candlelight, we told stories and sang together for fun. We wrestled and played with the animals. We kept each other warm at night until mother came home and kissed us. There were no such things as loneliness. Only love. I didn't know it then, but I was in heaven.

I try to recall my childhood often. Sometimes I feel like my life is too surreal, like the contrast between now and then is too fantastic— just like a movie. Each time I remember my childhood, I am afraid that I subconsciously idealize it. Sometimes I'm afraid that as I get older my ability to recollect such innocent memories accurately is slipping away as my mind acquires new, darker ones. The memories of childhood are the only memories I wish to never, ever forget. The only memories I can recall of what it means to be free.


End file.
